


Don't Fall Asleep

by Anonymous



Category: Lego Ninjago
Genre: Gen, Implied Character Death, This is a rough one guys, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombie Bite, Zombification, zombie bite aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27032602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The worst part had been that time-tripping, havoc-halting moment that he’d looked down at his shaking forearm and his eyes had widened at the deep red teeth marks branded into his skin.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17
Collections: Anonymous





	Don't Fall Asleep

The waiting is the worst part.

No—scratch that.

The worst part had been that time-tripping, havoc-halting moment that he’d looked down at his shaking forearm and his eyes had widened at the deep red teeth marks branded into his skin.

No. Scratch that too.

The worst part had been the way his blood seemed to stop in his body, the way his insides turned ice cold and his muscles seized up tight and his head swelled with a rush of colors as the surroundings seemed to fade and his breathing escaped his ears and all he could feel was the freezing worry that sat frigidly in his gut as those teeth marks stared at him, still oozing, blood trickling slowly down his arm in some agonizing taunt.

No wait. Rewind.

The worst part had been the teeth. It’d been the iron-hot burn against his skin, the bubbling sensation in his blood as blunt teeth tore against him, ripping and pulling, hot against his skin. The feeling of the topmost layer tearing away, the flaky, decayed hands clamped tight around his skin, gripping and pulling it in different directions like an Indian sunburn.

The resounding pain.

It’s hard to choose what’s worse.

Especially as events splash through his mind out of order, no apparent pattern to how they come and go.

It’s been like this the past few days, stuck in this building, stuck in this room, while the others try and figure out what to do with him.

He’s never been good at sitting still, always fidgeting, always moving, always doing something with his hands to distract himself from the stifling stillness. But here, in his little prison, surrounded by things to tinker with and loose wires to rework, he can’t seem to remember exactly how to use his hands, like they’ve just forgotten what to do. It used to be so instinctive.

They’ve been going at it in rotations, keeping an eye on him. Monitoring his condition, and peeking their head in every few minutes to make sure he’s not gnawing on the walls or dead on the floor. They bring him water and make sure he has something to eat.

He hasn’t been very hungry lately. Just really, really thirsty.

He clears his throat and it screams at him, dry and raw like he’s never felt before, as if he’s been trekking through the sweltering desert without water for a whole year.

It’s like the Sahara in there, in his throat.

He can’t remember what he’d been thinking about before.

He’s had trouble holding onto his thoughts.

All he can do is sit and think and sit and complain and remember and sit and wait.

Oh, right. Waiting.

Waiting is the worst part. Or…maybe it’s something else? He can’t remember.

Waiting. It’s like this slow, agonizing torture. Like the part of a roller coaster before the drop, where it’s climbing, climbing, climbing, and you know you’re gonna fall but it’s only a matter of when.

_When_. When will it end?

There’s a creaking sound. He looks up. Has he really been staring at the floor all this time?

The door is open ajar. Someone peeks their head in. It’s a shock of scruffy blond hair and a pair of bright green eyes. He knows this kid, he knows he does. What’s his name again?

“I thought you could use some water,” the kid says, and time seems to skip out for a minute there because the door is suddenly fully open and the kid is sitting criss cross in front of him and there’s ice cold water lapping down his own throat and a cup in his hand and he’s not sure exactly how it got there.

He wants to panic but he has trouble focusing on why there’s something wrong with that.

“Are you feeling okay?”

He looks up. He’d been staring at the floor again.

The green eyes look concerned, worried, sad. Why’s he so sad?

He itches at his arm and his skin burns. He flinches, stares down at it with a start. Teeth marks staring at him like it’s a contest.

Right. Zombie bite.

His head clears just a bit.

“I’m okay,” he says, wrinkling up his nose. “Foggy.”

“Foggy,” the kid repeats, and his eyes grow stony. His face looks grave. “Kai said you’ve been out of it.”

Kai. Kai. Kai. Cole? Kai and Cole? And Zane, Zane too.

Kai, Cole, Zane, and Lloyd. Right. He’s been traveling with Kai, Cole, Zane, and Lloyd.

This is Lloyd. He repeats the names in his head like a mantra.

“Jay?”

He looks up. The kid is staring at him again, almost expectantly. Has time skipped again?

Who is this kid?

The kid reaches out a pale hand and folds it over his own. The kid’s hand is pale, but boy, it _pales_ in comparison to his own. Get it? 

Something lights up in his brain. He doesn’t know what’s so special about his internal thought, but something about it is funny, so a dry laugh is bubbling passed his cracked lips, seeping into the open air.

The kid looks so concerned. He wonders what’s wrong.

“I’m gonna go get Kai. You sit tight, buddy.”

He’s not sure when the kid leaves the room because the next thing he knows, he’s alone and he feels warmer than before. Less cold. So so so thirsty, but it’s almost as if he’s so used to it that it’s become this dull, background nag at his brain.

He feels damp. His hair is sticking to his forehead. Maybe he’s swimming. He likes swimming.

There’s another person in the room, crouching down in front of him. When did he get here?

“Jay?” the guy says cautiously, lowering himself to the floor like he’s ready to run at the drop of a hat. His hair is all messy, sticks up at funny angles. It looks pointy. He chuckles.

The guy’s eyes look hesitant.

“Do you know who I am?” he says, as he lowers himself to a crouch. He doesn’t reach out to touch him like the other kid did. Where did that guy go? He was nice. Felt familiar.

“You’re spiky,” he laughs. Everything feels so funny right now.

The guy across from him doesn’t seem to agree. Instead, he frowns.

“It’s Kai, Jay. Do you even know who you are?”

_Know who you are. Do you know who you are._ Styles. Harry Styles.

“Hey,” the guy says, and his rough hands are at his cheeks, patting him lightly. It’s annoying. He just wants to sleep. These guessing games are getting hard. “Look at me, Jay.”

He meets his eyes. Something is seriously wrong with this guy because he looks all blurry. He should’ve paid extra to show up in HD.

“Bad subscription,” he mutters.

“What?” the guy says. His hands are still cupped firmly around his cheeks. They’re warm. He feels all warm. Wants to take a nap.

“Change TV provider,” he mumbles, and the room grows dark around the edges. He’s really really sleepy.

A sharp sting.

The room clears up. The guy is staring at him wide-eyed with a freshly reddened palm held out in front of him, and hey, blond kid is back, staring at him with big, shiny eyes from over spiky’s shoulder.

The door opens more and some dark giant walks in behind the blond one with a big frown on his face. He looks all grumpy with his arms crossed like that. Like Oscar the Grouch.

“Hey, it’s a party in here,” he mumbles in a rasp. His lips feel dry. Water would be nice.

“He doesn’t have long,” Grouchy rumbles from the back in his dark sweatshirt with his grumpy frown.

“C’mon, there’s gotta be something we can do,” Green Boy urges.

Spiky says nothing, just narrows his eyes with a tight frown.

“He’s dunzo,” Spiky says, and his eyes look all hard, but there’s a weird crinkle in his forehead. Like a crater. A laugh escapes his lips at the look of it. Spiky’s frown deepens. “All we can do now is put him out of his misery.”

“ _Wait, no_ ,” the green one cries, and he’s trying to force his way over. Like a game of tag. “C’mon _there’s_ _gotta_ _be something else_. Kai, stop, _please_.”

Grouchy is holding the green one back. Something shiny catches his eye. His eyes lazily follow it.

Spiky is holding something sharp. It looks just like his hair.

“You match,” he mumbles. He’s sleepy again.

Spiky’s grip tightens around the sword. The funny wrinkle between his eyebrows is bigger than ever.

Things are starting to look dark around the edges again.

_So sleepy_.

It’s the last thing he sees, those hard and piercing eyes and that big, fat forehead wrinkle, and those silly matching points, and that grim frown, before the blackness takes over and everything fades away.

_Sleep_. 


End file.
